Essays, Skirts and Female Oxymorons
by One Bright Light
Summary: [High School AU] Lucy Carlyle is the new girl. Lockwood is a shy, antisocial nerd who talks to his dead sister. She doesn't seem to care about anything. He can't seem to figure her out. George and Flo both seem to love sticking their noses into old, rotten things, such as the cafeteria's chocolate pudding. [Locklyle and some Florge] [for Addicted to fandoms]
1. notice

**Disclaimer:**** AHAHAHAHAHAHA... no. :(**

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**i. notice**

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Lockwood doesn't _meet_ Lucy Carlyle on her first day at Combe Carey High. He doesn't even acknowledge her.

When the teacher walks in late, he's too busy digging a pen out of his schoolbag.

The only thing he notices is that there are two pairs of feet clacking over the cold linoleum tiles instead of just one. His level of interest peaks moderately, but not enough for him to give up his search for a stylus and look up.

He assumes it's the new student, and whoever it is will probably just ignore him as well anyway. The whole school does, for the most part.

(One of the only people he can talk to is his sister - and she's _dead._)

When Ms Fittes clears her throat at the front of the room, he finally finds a pen and throws it on his economics book, then props up his elbows on the table and drops his chin into his palms, a picture of jaded detachment.

The new student is female.

The only thing he notices is the new girl's dark brunette bob and closed-off expression, making for a banal first impression. Her navy blue messenger bag hangs at her side, aseptic, impersonal and dark, just like the rest of her.

(He immediately strikes down whatever hopes he had of gaining a friend.)

She's not ugly, but not that pretty, either, very average in most ways. Yet Lockwood can still hear the way Quill Kipps is shifting in his seat, which probably says something about the female population of their town.

(Or maybe Kipps is just a sleaze when it comes to girls. The guy is a _menace._)

When Ms Fittes makes her introductory statement, Lockwood is already half-immersed in his work again, flipping through the pages of his economics book with fervour.

The only thing he notices is that her name is Lucy Carlyle and that she'll be with them for the rest of their Senior semester. He fleetingly wonders for what reason anybody would switch schools in their last semester of high school, but doesn't ponder on the ambiguity of the statement.

When she walks past his seat in the middle row, black skirt rustling, and settles herself at a desk two seats to the right of him, the only thing he notices is that she's held up the lesson for about four and a half minutes. That, and he's a little disappointed.

(He doesn't know why - maybe he's just tired of being labelled as a nerdy loner and being rejected by society.)

(Flo would be proud of his cynicism.)

Lockwood occupies himself with the finer workings of our society for the rest of the lesson. He explains the business cycle with no problem and writes a paragraph on Keynesian economics to make Ms Fittes happy. He's pretty sure it would boost his grade up... if there was anything left to boost.

The girl's fallow form doesn't do much to capture his attention. The only thing he notices now is how the ink on the nib of his pen is smudging and that the viscid black liquid is blotching all over his fingers and his neatly written work.

Lockwood clicks his tongue in annoyance and replaces the offending pen with a pencil.

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**So I felt like posting something. Bite me. :)**

**So as you can see, this is another pointless fluff ficlet (from Lockwood's POV this time because I felt like it). Expect weekly updates, since school is starting for me again and I'm going to have to concentrate on my education soon. Blech. ****Next chapter: gossip**

**Should I put George and Flo in as a couple? (Florge... Cubbard... uh...?) Help me out here.**

**Review, _s'il vous plaît?_ OvO**

_**Merci, mes copines! Bonne chance!**_


	2. gossip

**Disclaimer: Om nom.**

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**ii. gossip**

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She has all of his classes except PE, English and Mathematics. She might as well not be sitting there, right at the edge of his peripheral vision.

As far as he can tell, however, (and that's not far, given his status as a loner) nobody in the whole school knows more about her than he does. In fact…

(In fact, she seems to be as much of a social pariah as he is.)

Over the next two weeks, he gets rather curious. By this time, usually, people should start jabbering on about who her boyfriend is, or if she belongs with the goths or the emos. But… he hears nothing, except whispers of her stoic silence when approached or asked a question. (Oh, and she turned Kipps down when he asked her out without so much as changing her expression.)

He knows something is different, especially when his friends start gossiping about her.

(The three outcasts never gossip. _Ever._)

Florence Bonnard, the would-be freelance artist, rolls her eyes when George brings her up at lunchtime and slaps her art folder down on one of the greasy cafeteria tables, tucking her mane of stiff, straw-coloured hair behind an ear.

"The sour mare ain't worth hangin' round," she grumbles to both of them and casually swipes Lockwood's pudding. "You don't mind, do you Locky?"

(He doesn't. The pudding is horrible and long past its expiration date, but Flo will eat anything.)

"Anyway," the blonde continues brazenly, "we were partners for a collage project with recycling as our topic. So, naturally, we went down to the rubbish bins and I started scrounging up some of the best things. Nice candy wrappers, there were, all bright'n glitzy."

Lockwood puts a polite smile on his face, prodding his greasy, congealed mashed potatoes with meagre enthusiasm and George looks up from studying the skull sitting on the table next to him long enough to elbow his girlfriend in the side.

(The chubby teen has most of his classes with Lockwood too. Like Flo, he has a shtick for sticking his nose into old, mouldy, dirty things he probably shouldn't be touching, which is undoubtedly the two get along so well and why he intends to become a forensic anthropologist.)

(On a side note, no, Lockwood _doesn't_ know where George got the skull.)

Flo scowls at George and wrinkles her nose. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The lot of you are too posh to talk about the _real_ world over lunch anyways." She wipes her nose with her sleeve and continues. "Anyway, the whole time I was looking for trash, she was standing behind me, wrinkling her nose and looking all high and mighty an' disapproving. She's on a high horse, that one."

Lockwood shrugs. "Not everybody likes rubbish as much as you do."

Flo rolls her eyes. "Whatever. George here's got a little more dirt on 'er."

The porky boy polishes his glasses and shoves his untouched food tray aside. "Eh, not much. I'm in her Maths class, and she almost never talks, except on those rare occasions when the teacher calls on her. The rest of the time, she just sits there, looking annoyed at the world. I'm not even sure she's listening to what the teacher's saying."

He pauses, then continues cheerfully. "One time I asked her if I could have a pen. We traded insults for a few minutes… I think I annoy her."

"You have the uncanny ability to annoy most people, George," Lockwood tells him.

"As I said, she's..." Flo starts, but trails off when the two boys give her a reproachful look. Lockwood also thinks she might be judging Lucy _too_ harshly.

(Then again, he's trying to make his own judgements about her without having even been in her company.)

(He's always been quite hypocritical.)

"What about you, Lockwood?" George asks, digging a tuna sandwich out of his backpack. "I hear you're in almost all of her classes. And yet you're the only one without any information about her."

Lockwood shrugs. "I don't notice her much, and there's not much more to add. All she does is sit there and write, although she doesn't seem all there."

"Of course you wouldn't notice," Flo scoffs. "Locky here would die if he got so much as an A-minus on a test."

Lockwood doesn't frown. He's used to Flo's burlesque jabs by now.

He's usually described as a teacher's pet and a nerd even though all he does is get good grades. (Teachers annoy him. _A lot._)

...Okay, fine, he's the student with the highest marks in the whole year by far (very far), and the only one who routinely manages to get one hundred percent on all tests - hey, school's always been easy for him, even Senior Year.

(Social interaction - not so much. Which is how he ended up with George and Flo as companions.)

(Companions, not friends. The concept of _friendship_ has been Greek to him for a long time.)

The bell rings and he heads off to History together with George.

Lucy's got her head down as usual and spends the whole period with her pen gliding over her book in some ineffable pattern, her short chocolate hair just covering her arch eyes from the rest of the world.

(But they're working on the French Revolution, and there's no room for trivial drama.)

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**So, this was supposed to be short, but it just... grew. I a****lways thought school would be rather easy for Lockwood, since he's got so much useless trivia in that big head of his. Plus, he seems like the social outcast type of person.**

**On a personal note, school's started. My teachers are instilling me with confidence for my exams. NOT. _C'est la vie._ Yay.**

**Next chapter: [undecided, something like bewilder or revelation]**

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**Revie****w**** Replies:**

_**Nemaides:**_** Thank you! Hope you enjoy this part, and that you'll be happy to find it's a multi-chap. (Flubbins. I cracked up when I read that. I'ma call them that now. :)**

_**Mayflowers123:**_** Thank you! Yes, that's what usually annoys me in fanfics... The main couple is always so damn attracted to each other from the very start! Well, hope you like this.**

_**Anonymous (guest):**_** Really!? Wow, that was unexpected. Let's see what Book 3 brings! Florge/Flubbins has officially happened... :)**

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_**Merci, mes copines! Profiter de la littérature!**_

**Review, _s'il vous plaît!_ OvO**


	3. prodigy

**Disclaimer: Uh... how about NO?**

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**iii. prodigy**

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He publicly acknowledges her for the first time when they're receiving their test results for an English essay. Mr Barnes, the brusque middle-aged English teacher, reads out their names and the corresponding grades from a sheet of paper.

(Lockwood just keeps reading his book while his classmates stress over their bad grades.)

(Hey, it's a good book.)

Then, _her_ name is called. Mr Barnes squints at the paper and calls out, "Lucy Carlyle - one hundred percent."

Lockwood pauses, his eyes stopping on the word _equilibrium_. His gaze darts to the right, vaguely aware of tumultuous whispers springing up. _Not possible,_ he tells himself. _Not. Possible._

Now, despite what you might hear, English in twelfth Grade is not by any means an easy subject, especially not at Combe Carey High, where the students are taught by Mr Barnes, who has been nationally recognised for his exceptionally sophisticated course outline and challenging subject material. Only the best excel in his class, and Lockwood, philologist that he is, always has been the very best.

(Nobody else has even gotten _close_ to his one hundred percent average.)

The bottom line being that it is virtually impossible (and probably indelible) for Lucy Carlyle, a new student, unaccustomed to Barnes's courses and teaching requirements, to have gotten one hundred percent. (If her demeanour in class was earnest, anyway. Lockwood swears it borders on apathy.)

The aforementioned teenager seems to enjoy the confusion. Lucy Carlyle leans back in her seat, her typically blank face wearing the beginnings of a smirk. Her lips twitch upwards smugly for a moment before her face goes back to impeccably smooth, like a porcelain doll's. It's like she's teasing them, like she knows what the rest of the class is thinking of her.

It's not hard, to be honest. Everybody is prating on to each other about _how the hell did she do that?_

(Nobody has an answer.)

Lockwood barely listens when his name is called, or when the inevitable '_one hundred percent_' are given. His gaze flickers to Lucy, as she casually looks around, her dark oculars sweeping around the room in a victory lap. She catches his eye and raises a brow daringly.

(A challenge.)

(Lockwood realises he's staring.)

He cedes to her, his cheeks turning vaguely rufescent, and looks back down at his book, but his mind is whirling and he can't read a thing.

He sits in class with her every day, she's in his peripheral vision most of the time, and yet all he's managed to see is… boredom. Lethargy.

Not once was there any indication she was capable of producing any work belletristic enough to please their petty teacher. Lockwood turns a page even though he hasn't read a word, rapt with marvel at how a new student could show up his spotless record.

(There's not little resentment and jealousy attached to the wonder, but to him, it's all the same.)

It's the beginning of his, ah… fascination with the oxymoron that is Lucy Carlyle.

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**I know, I know. It's not my best writing, but I had NO free time all week. I was literally doing homework from directly after school until past ten in the night. _ I hope this won't have to go on hiatus, it might be a possibility... a very small one, don't worry.**

**This chapter turned out to be prodigy, because it caught my eye and fit perfectly.**

**Next chapter: raiment**

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**Review Replies:**

**_skydancerfyremagyk_: Thank you! I agree, we need more fiction. :) Sorry about the delay, schoolwork was horrible. *shudders***

**_Mayflowers123_: Thank you, and I'm thinking of adding most grown-ups as teachers etc. And yes, I'm very excited for Book 3!**

**_Anonymous (guest)_: Wow, I totally missed that! Now plotting to somehow make that fact part of this fanfic... *scratches head* Hope you like this chapter!**

**_Guest (no. 2)_: Thank you! I hope you enjoy this! But WHY does everybody except me come up with hilarious names for ships? :)**

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**_Bonne chance pour l'école et pour vos devoirs!_**

**Review, _s'il vous plaît._ (OwO)**


	4. raiment

**Disclaimer: Soon... soon...**

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**iv. raiment**

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He furtively starts to notice things about her. Her achromatic clothes, for instance.

Her shirts are simple, nothing special – just ordinary black or grey t-shirts, usually with a scooped or V-neck. Covered by a navy blue pea coat that makes her face and hands seems niveous ( and which is, incidentally, the only splash of 'colour' on her body), she looks ready for a jungle expedition, or perhaps a reputable drug bust in London's back streets.

He can imagine her,_ standing there with the standard blue-red lights flashing behind her, as she steps up next to Benedict Cumberbatch and points the loaded gun at the group of writhen figures skulking through the shadows…_

(Lockwood doesn't know why, but something about Lucy makes his usually analytical, straightforward mind bend and go off on creative, _inspired_ tangents, which he hasn't done for the past ten years.)

Still, Lucy's uniform doesn't end there.

She wears skirts. Always skirts. Short pleated skirts or fit A-line ones, they're always a dark colour like black, grey or blue. (She seems fond of ruffles as well, he observes. Ruffles and metal studs.) She's backstreet gloaming hour in person.

He legs are not bereft of clothing – wrapped in shiny black tights, they strike out sharply when she strides through the corridors among her fellow students. The wiry mesh is always plain – although stylish rips and sags in the netting are common.

Her feet are clad in black leather combat boots with high soles and metal studs adorning them. Reaching well above her ankles, and laced up tightly, they make her strike him as a sort of warrior princess – an amazon, perhaps, a tenebrific angel of vengeance.

(Going off on tangents _again_… Something is definitely not right.)

All in all, her outfit screams of confidence and independence. She doesn't peacock around in it; she simply wears it with silent venerability.

Lockwood muses as he sits in front of her in Mathematics, that she might not be so different from him, in style, at least. He dresses dark and efficient, and never leaves his apartment without his black trench coat. Yet as he strides past an eye-catching painting of a Lady in Grey that hangs on the wall like a death sentence (it's _that_ good) and reads the caption underneath it (_Lucy Carlyle, Grade 12_), he shakes his head at the little naiveté. She's obviously the artistic type. He couldn't draw a fair stick figure even is his hands were being guided.

Being artistic hasn't stopped her from matching his grades in one stride across the whole curriculum, to be honest. (Lockwood even finds himself stressing over grades for the first time... _ever._)

There is also something ever so familiar about her self-seclusion – yes, Lockwood dares to actually hope that they might form a sodality, if simply because society has thrown them in together as pariahs.

(That _hope_ fades from day to day, pales and is washed away as Lucy continues to sit for herself, never talking. Her pen is still always over her paper, movement when the rest of the world is still.)

It's when he's sitting peacefully in his apartment, quietly jotting down notes for a Science assignment that he by happenstance sees a navy blue coat pass by his window. His eyes ricochet towards the glass, the pen diverting ever so slightly from its path.

It isn't her, but his mind has flashed back to a vivid image of her, like she always is – standing tall, baleful, laid back, her messenger bag slung loose over her shoulder. An ashen figure against the bright background.

And that's when he realises just how deep in trouble he is already.

(Slowly, guilefully, logic has been forsaken.)

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**I feel like Lockwood comes off as a bit of a creeper in this... Your thoughts?**

**I changed Lucy's outfit a little just because I think she would dress slightly differently if she didn't have to fight spectres at every corner. It isn't much, just tights instead of leggings and t-shirts and a coat over the top. Plus combat boots, because she'd rock those.**

**Next chapter: demeanour**

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**Review Replies:**

**_skydancerfyremagyk:_ Cookies! *attacks cookies* Thank you! Here's the update; hope you enjoy! :)**

_**Mayflowers123:**_** Really? Glad you liked it, here's some more!**

**_Anonymous (guest 1):_ Uh... you okay?**

**_Addicted to fandoms:_ Thank you! *updates***

**_Anonymous (guest 2):_ Nice, although the only thing I'd like to learn about at this point are Lockwood's parents. Sorry, but I can almost with absolute sureness say that I will hate you if you spoil something for me. Sorry, I just don't like spoilers that much. :(**

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_**Bonne chance, mes amies!**_

**_Merci pour les_ Reviews, Follows _et les_ Favourites!**

**Review, Follow, Fave, _s'il vous plaît!_**


	5. demeanour

**Disclaimer:**** I'll get back to you on that.**

**NOTE: One update a week, eh? Believe me, I hate myself as much as you do.**

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**v. demeanour**

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Lockwood sighs as he shuffles through yesterday's notes before school. There aren't many, since his concentration had miraculously vanished after that incident with the blue coat. He rubs his eyes and shrugs. _Well, it'll have to do._

The Phsyics assignment is their last before exams start, before they start to do revision for their conclusive exams. Then comes graduation… Lockwood's last official rite of passage as a senior student at Combe Carey. After that, he'll head straight for university.

(He won't be taking any time off. It's not like there's anything he wants to do…)

Lockwood doesn't regret having to leave school. He's not what you would call a social person after all. There will be no nostalgia or wistfulness when he thinks of his childhood. He's stopped looking back a long time ago, and he has a good reason for it.

Looking back won't tell him anything – it's all just memories of studying late and lying awake when his insomnia catches him unawares anyway. (It's gotten better; he gets about four nights' sleep a week.)

The only thing he'll have to do once he becomes a lawyer is recall his lessons. And if he can do that, everything will sort itself out.

To be honest though, he'll probably be a horrible lawyer. (What with his hypocrisy and easy bias _et cetera_.) He's looking into the defence attorney career right now, but the only thing he really wants is a job with freedom. (He's rather like Flo that way… he'd rather do his own thing and not have anything to do than live under the constant threat of being fired and losing is job.)

_But first things first – pass exams, graduate._ Lockwood turns a page, not really having read anything on the previous one. _Speaking of graduation…_ his surefire position as valedictorian is being threatened recently…

He sighs as he heads towards economics. _Every thought leads back to her these days…_ The young man returns to browsing through his Physics notes and checking if he has at least the key points down.

(Which is why he runs, headfirst, into the doorframe.)

(Which leads to him dropping his notes.)

He just stands there for a moment, eyes closed, then groans quietly at the expected pain and looks down. He rubs his forehead and scowls at the floor, but blinks when he realises his papers are _not_ strewn over the corridor like a hurricane went through them.

(A halcyon in form of a blue pea coat has appeared.)

Her hip is cocked, her messenger bag sliding to one side as slender fingers wrap around the sheaf of papers, holding it out to him with indifferent eyes.

He stares at her, quite taken by surprise, until Lucy makes a sound of annoyance. "Would you like it delivered to your desk instead?" she asks him in a detached voice. He can almost hear her add in her thoughts, _I am so over this._

He blinks, shrugs, and carefully obtains the sheaf from her. He shuffles and re-checks the papers, silence falling over them. Lockwood hesitates for a moment.

"I think I can make the journey there myself."

He surprises himself by speaking, and even more so by actually holding a conversation upright – almost initiating communication. (Internally, he's screaming at himself, his persona as silent nerd deteriorating rapidly.)

Her eyes flash with bewilderment for a second, before she fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Well, make sure you don't exhaust yourself. We wouldn't want our star pupil to pass out halfway through the lesson because he overestimated himself." She then turns on her heel, walking through the door with an expert flick of her hair.

_Don't worry, I had a rare full night's sleep yesterday._ Lockwood blinks and adds _cold and sarcastic_ to his mental list of adjectives describing her. (He considers adding _jackass_, but it sounds too male and crass, so he leaves it – for now.)

Then he enters the classroom and walks past Lucy's desk, dropping his bag on the floor next to his chair. Following unwritten protocol…

He doesn't thank her.

She doesn't look up.

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**It's crappy and under-edited, but I really wanted to post something.**

**So... double update, since I've got free time and finished my first Internal wave. Hopefully be up by tomorrow evening. If not, feel free to hate me... even more. :)**

**Next chapter: ink**

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**Review Replies:**

**_Nemaides:_ Yeah... I was going to put in more types of skirts, but that would have been overly creepy. :)**

**_skydancerfyremagyk:_ *looks at cookies helplessly* I don't deserve this. Thank you! Here's the new chapter!**

**_Mayflowers123:_ That's god to hear! :) Hmm, now that you mention it... perhaps some teacher pairings would be appropriate.**

**_Guest (1):_ Thanks so much!**

**_Gummi (Guest 2):_ Yeah... I was trying for using more advanced language so it sounds natural, like a writing exercise.**

**_Addicted to fandoms:_ *hides face in shame* Thank you so much!**

**_Guest (3):_ Merci beaucoup! :D**

**_berryblood:_ Thanks, and I love your username!**

**_Anonymous:_ OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHTHANKYOUSOMUCHFORTELLINGME! I am fangirling already when I think of all the Locklyle that might be hinted at in the next book. :D Also, I'm sorry if Lockwood comes off as geeky or nerdy. He isn't supposed to be... Look up 'persona (psychology)' on Wikipedia... that's basically what I was going for. I'll explain it further in later chapters.**

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**_Vous êtes trop sympa._**

**_Merci pour tous les_ reviews! OvO**


	6. ink

**Disclaimer: :(**

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**vi. ink**

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It's in Physics, later that very day, that she runs out of paper. He sees out of the corner of his eye how she flips through her workbook, finally shaking her head and decisively propping her elbow up on the table, setting the sharp black nib of the vintage fountain pen against her fair skin.

Mr Joplin continues to drone on about subjects Lockwood has long since permanently established in his brain, like concepts of special relativity. They've been rehashing said subject over and over again and Lockwood, of course, has the whole thing down to Science. (So to speak.)

The dark-haired teen sighs and stares at his workbook, but he's too bored to actually do anything but sit there and complain in his thoughts about how bored he is. A glance at his silver wristwatch leads to him making the discovery that the lesson goes on for ten more minutes.

_Great._

He lazily answers a few questions in his book, with his hand tilted so much that his methodical print turns cacographic and disorderly. It takes about thirty seconds for listlessness to still his chaotic script and turn him still again.

Looking up, he realises their teacher has once again gone off on a tangent, and is now explaining his good days as a businessman to the students, all of which are wearing varying degrees of a vigorously apathetic expression.

George, who sits in front of Lockwood, turns slightly and rummages through his bag, popping the skull on his desk and leaning back, examining the sharp, inert face. The teacher, obviously, doesn't notice.

Diagonally behind Lockwood, a glance reveals Lucy's figure, which is sharply outlined by the summer sun shining through the window, rendering her profile to a dark relief. She's still sitting in the same position, her pen gliding soundlessly over her skin like a dancer on an ice rink. Stylised flowers and vines wrap around her wrists, and birds of paradise are juxtaposed with elegant snakes.

Flat and one-dimensional, black and white, yet more animated than the whole classroom. Lockwood watches her furtively for a while, until she glances up at the board. He follows her line of sight to the projector, which is now for some reason showing a Calla Lily in full bloom, and the teen briefly wonders if he's found the wrong class and somehow ended up in Bio.

(Then he realises that Mr Joplin has been talking about the significance of Lilies in the life of a funeral director and relaxes.)

Looking back at Lucy, he watches her slowly construct a curly flower beneath her right wrist, giving it slender, keen leaves that mirror the ones their teacher is gesturing to. For some enigmatic reason, he is no longer bored.

He tunes into the lesson as Mr Joplin slaps his hands together, finally getting back on track. The old faculty member walks to the front of the classroom, announcing: "All right. As you know, we have one more partnered research project which will test your ability to produce an informational board given a limited time frame and your co-operation skills. I've already decided on the pairs, so I expect you all to get the highest grades possible."

Lockwood rolls his eyes. _Oh, really. And what would we be writing on… the relativity of how your childhood stories have the ability to slow time right down?_ He slips his workbook back into his bag, in preparation for the bell to ring.

He doesn't like co-ed projects. Most times, he will suggest (or doggedly insist) on a post-school study session at the local library to organise their thoughts and board, then divide up who will type which paragraphs. In the end, both him and his partner will do their own thing and bring the printed sheets of paper back to school. _Voila_, one assignment ready for marking.

Totally retreating from society has its drawbacks after all… He's never been much of a team player. Even when he is working on a project with George, there is always some lingering awkwardness between them, an invisible barrier that Lockwood knows he has constructed himself. (It's necessary in order to conserve his mask.)

So, he's not looking forward to an afternoon of research together with a random stranger from his class whom he probably never had the curiosity to notice before. Come to think of it, who will _he_ be paired-

"Lucy Carlyle and Anthony Lockwood."

_…What?_

He turns to her in disbelief and she's propped both her elbows on her desk, staring at him with that same deadpan expression, her fists gathered beneath her chin. The arms of her pea coat hang limply, exposing ruffles, twirls, flowers, borders, feathers, skulls, stylised ghosts and animals – a black-and-white landscape of pure spirit, of life.

She tilts her head at him slightly. (In another situation, on any other girl, it would have looked coy, coquettish, in fact, but with her invariable expression, it has an unnerving effect.)

And then the bell rings, and he sort of waits for her to say something sassy, or just cuss him out for her stupid luck, because Lucy Carlyle is by no means a clement girl…

She stands up, and, slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder (which makes the tattoos almost come alive) walks toward him.

"I'm feeling peckish. Let's discuss this over hot chocolate, shall we?"

His jaw drops before he can help himself.

(Her expression is brazenly rident all of a sudden.)

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**...It's too cliche, isn't it.**

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**Review Replies:**

**_Mayflowers123:_ Ta dah, I guess? I dunno, it seems a little fast. :/**

**_Addicted to fandoms:_ Thanks! :D Here you go!**

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**_Merci, à bientôt!_ Review, _s'il vous plaît!_ OvO**


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